


I'm Supposed to Love You

by tragician (vause)



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-26 17:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3859417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vause/pseuds/tragician
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You’re like my other half. Seriously,” he added, seeing Patrick’s raised eyebrow. “We’re Pete and Patrick, man. Patrick and Pete. Like Batman and Robin or whatever."</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Supposed to Love You

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> _I listened to GINASFS on repeat for too long and this happened._

 

\----------

Six months. Patrick hadn’t seen Pete in almost six months. He missed his best friend. The hiatus had changed everything and they were all off doing their own things now. In a way, the break felt right. But more than anything, Patrick missed his band. Patrick missed Pete. They’d sworn to each other that this wouldn’t change their friendship – that they’d still hang out like they used to. But they hadn’t.

During the hiatus, Patrick had taken up a new hobby: drinking alone. Drinking alone in his room – often in Pete’s old t-shirt, which has long lost his scent - and missing Pete. Missing what they almost had, what they could have had.

“Fuck.” Patrick stumbled on his way back to his bed from the bathroom, almost crashing into his dresser. He collapsed into a heap on top of his bed. He wondered what Pete was doing right now. Wondered _who_ Pete was doing right now.

“Fuck it,” Patrick said to himself, digging for his cell phone under the mess of blankets on his bed. The lock screen said it was 12:24 in the morning. Pete would still be awake, wouldn’t he? After a few passcode attempts, he managed to unlock his phone and pull up his contact list, scrolling to Pete’s name and hitting the ‘call’ button.

Patrick pulled a blanket over him as he listened to the phone ringing. _Pick up, pick up, pick up. Please._

“Pat?” Pete answered sleepily on the other side of the phone. Patrick was silent. He hadn’t heard Pete’s voice in almost six months. And there it was. Saying his name. “Patrick?”

Patrick hung up the phone.

 

\----------

Around 2, there was a banging on Patrick’s apartment door. He groaned and pulled a pillow over his head, willing them to leave alone. The knocking continued, and Patrick finally rolled out of bed and stumbled into the living room, almost tripping over the couch in the process. He undid the deadbolt and the chain, pulling open the door with a mumbled, "who the fuck is it?"

“Patrick?” Pete was wearing a faded grey hoodie over a pair of plaid pajama pants, his hair hidden under a black beanie. “Jesus, man. You look like shit.”

Patrick was silent. Pete was here. Pete was here. At his door, at his apartment. Here. And he was pushing past Patrick to step into the living room.

“Yeah, sure, come right in,” Patrick muttered, closing the front door.

“Dude, you fucking reek.” Pete leaned close to him, sniffing. “Vodka?”

“Fuck off,” Patrick spat out, pulling away from Pete. “Why are you here?”

“You call me at 12:30 in the morning, hang up on me, then don’t return my calls? And you don’t expect me to come make sure you’re okay?”

“I shouldn’t have called. Just…just go home, Pete.” Patrick leaned against the wall, arms hanging at his sides.

“Pat…”

“Please, Pete.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose, willing his pounding headache to go away.

“Is that my shirt?” Patrick froze, looking down and remembering that he was wearing Pete’s old Iron Maiden t-shirt. Shit.

“Uh, I don’t know,” Patrick murmured, embarrassed.

“You fucking dork,” Pete laughed. “That’s definitely my shirt. I was wondering what happened to it.” He brushed his fingers over the hem of the shirt, with a slight smile on his face.

Patrick closed his eyes, savoring the moment – the feel of Pete’s fingers against his stomach. “Pete -,” he started.

“What did you do, jack it from my stuff on our last tour?” Pete pulled his hand away, jamming both into the front pocket of his hoodie.  
  
“Uh – I guess it just ended up in my stuff by accident?” It came out more of a question than a statement.

“And you weren’t aware it was mine?” Pete raised his eyebrows, trying not to smile.

“I guess I just thought – I thought it was mine.” Patrick stuttered.

“You know damn well you don’t own an Iron Maiden shirt,” Pete replied, finally cracking a smile, taking a step closer to Patrick, his hand sliding back up to toy with the hem of the shirt.

“Fine, it’s your fucking shirt, Pete,” Patrick snapped. “I took it from your shit at our last show, okay? God, can you just drop it?” He pulled away from Pete’s touch, dropping onto the couch, head in hands.

Pete’s smile was instantly wiped from his face. “Dude, chill. I was just messing with you, I’m sorry.” Pete plopped onto the couch next to Patrick, pulling the beanie off his head, balling it up in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

Patrick didn’t look up, just let out a small groan.

“Did you go out last night?” Pete took another sniff at Patrick. “You seriously smell like shit.”

Patrick grunted.

“What did you do, dump an entire bottle of vodka over your head?” Pete joked, trying to lighten the mood, while simultaneously being a little concered.

Silence.

“Pat, c’mon. Talk to me.”

They were silent for a few moments, just the sound of breathing and Pete’s thoughts running a mile a minute.

“Patrick?” Pete lightly touched Patrick’s knee.

“Jesus, Pete!” Patrick finally snapped, standing up from the couch. “Just go home.”

“You called me.” Pete tried to keep his voice even. “We haven’t spoken in six months and you called me at 12:30 in the morning and fucking hung up, and then don’t answer any of my calls or texts. Six months, Patrick!” Pete stood up, throwing his balled up beanie to the ground. “Six fucking months. You disappeared on us. On me.” Pete’s voice cracked. “You left me,” he choked out.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t see you trying to make any contact with me,” Patrick shot back. “You could have called.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.” Pete admitted. “Joe and Andy told me I should just leave you alone and just let you be. That you’d make the first move if you wanted to keep in contact. I picked up the phone so many times, Pat. Do you know how many times I got into my car and almost drove here?”

Patrick was quiet.

“I miss the hell out of you, Patrick. God, do I miss you. You’re supposed to be my best friend. Do you know how much it sucks not being able to see you every day? Or talk to you every day? Jesus, Patrick. The last six months have been absolute fucking hell. You’re like my other half. Seriously,” he added, seeing Patrick’s raised eyebrow. “We’re Pete and Patrick, man. Patrick and Pete. Like Batman and Robin or whatever. Being apart for a few weeks when we weren’t touring was hard enough, but months? And I thought you hated me. I thought I’d lost you for good.”

“Pete-,” Patrick started, but Pete was still rambling.

“I didn’t know what to do. What are you supposed to do when your best friend doesn’t want anything to do with you? I didn’t leave my house for almost two weeks and even after that I had to force myself to get out of bed in the morning. I just wanted to fucking see you. But I didn’t want to push you even farther away. Just in case there was still a chance you’d talk to me again, you know? But I guess that was stupid because now I’m here and you’re telling me to leave. I should have just called you months ago and had you yell at me then so I wouldn’t keep hoping –“

Pete was cut off by Patrick’s finger on his lips. “Pete,” Patrick said again, trailing his finger down to cup Pete’s chin.

“I’m sorry.” Pete’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

“Pete,” Patrick repeated. And then his lips were on Pete’s, his hand moving to the back of Pete’s neck.

Pete was still, his arms hanging at his sides. Then Patrick’s hand was in his hair, the other sliding down Pete’s back, clenching his hoodie in his fist.

And Pete was kissing back, his hands on both sides of Patrick’s face, pulling him as close as possible. He ran his tongue along Patrick’s bottom lip, and Patrick’s lips parted, allowing him entrance. He tasted like cheap vodka and something that just seemed so utterly _Patrick_. And that’s when it hit him. Patrick. This was Patrick. He was _kissing Patrick_. Shit.

Pete broke contact, trying to pull away, but Patrick held him tight, moving his lips to kiss along Pete’s jaw. “Patrick –,” Pete started.

“Don’t.” Patrick’s breath was hot against his ear. “Don’t freak out about this.”

“You’re drunk.”

Patrick leaned his forehead against Pete’s. “I know what I’m doing,” he murmured. “I should have done this a long time ago.”

“Patrick...I can’t. I just can’t.” Pete tried to pull away again, and this time Patrick let him go.

“I – I …Shit. Shit. Pete. Pete, I’m sorry,” Patrick choked out, feeling tears coming. He was exhausted, still slightly buzzed, and now feeling like a complete idiot. “I’m sorry,” he managed once more before pushing his way past Pete into his room.

 

\-----------

Patrick threw himself into his bed, pulling a blanket around him, and waiting for the slamming of the front door. But it never came. He wondered what Pete was still doing out in the living room. He was probably laughing about what an idiot Patrick had been. The thought only made Patrick’s stomach sicker than it already was. God, had he fucked up. Kissing Pete? What had he done? Any chance of them becoming friends again was definitely gone now.

 _But he kissed back_ , a voice in the back of his mind told him. For a few wonderful seconds, Pete had kissed him back.

“Patrick?”

At the sound of Pete’s voice, Patrick burrowed himself deeper under his blankets. He could feel Pete sit down on the edge of the bed.  
  
“Is that a bottle of tequila? In your bed? Seriously, Pat?” Pete pulled the blanket off of Patrick, who grunted, trying to pull it back over his face. “Come on, dude.”

Patrick rolled over, facing Pete, who was holding an empty tequila bottle with a look of concern on his face. “It helps.” His voice was low.

“Helps what?” Pete put the bottle on the nightstand, avoiding eye contact with Patrick.

“It helps me not miss you.” Patrick buried his face in his pillow.

Pete’s heart skipped a beat. He’d done this to Patrick. He should have ignored Andy and Joe and checked on him months ago. This was his fault. He kicked his shoes off, sliding his legs beneath the blanket. Patrick ignored him, his face still in the pillow. Pete scooted closer to Patrick, slipping an arm around his waist and leaning his head on the edge of Patrick’s pillow.

“What are you doing?” Patrick’s voice was muffled.

“Helping you not miss me.”

Patrick turned his head, eyes red and puffy from crying. “Why didn’t you leave?”

“What?”

“Why didn’t you leave?”

“I didn’t have a reason to.”

“I kissed you.”

“Yeah, you did.” Pete let out a shaky laugh.

“That seems like a pretty good reason to me,” Patrick replied quietly.

“I just needed to process it. It was pretty unexpected.” Pete squeezed Patrick a little tighter. “I just didn’t…I didn’t know if you were doing it just because you were drunk.”

Patrick was silent, staring at Pete. Their faces were so close that Patrick could feel Pete’s breath on his lips.

“I’m sorry,” Pete apologized for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

“You didn’t do anything. I shouldn’t have kissed you,” Patrick answered. He could feel his face heating up, the embarrassment of what he did flooding back into his mind.

“I’m glad you did.” Pete’s voice was steady, even though his heart was pounding.

“What?”

“I said –“

“I know what you said, Pete.”

There were quiet for a few moments, Pete subconsciously tracing patterns on Patrick’s back.

“Are we going to be okay?” Patrick finally asked.

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Pete ran his hand up Patrick’s back to run his fingers through Patrick's messy hair. God, had he missed him.

Patrick didn’t answer, just moved closer and tucked his head under Pete’s chin, his lips against his neck. Pete moved his hand back down to its spot on Patrick’s back, shivering slightly when Patrick’s lips touched his neck.

“I love you.” Patrick’s voice was barely above a whisper. Patrick could feel Pete tense up, and immediately regretted what he said. He tried to sit up, but Pete kept his grip on him tight.

“You’re such a dork,” was Pete’s reply. “I love you too.” He laughed out loud at Patrick’s shocked expression. “I have for a long time. And I’m sorry I didn’t do anything about it sooner.” Patrick was still silent, staring at Pete. “Patrick?”

Patrick leaned in and Pete met him halfway, sliding one hand down to squeeze Patrick’s hip.

It was everything Pete could ever ask for in a kiss, and it was too soon that Patrick pulled away. “You okay?” he asked, hand stroking Patrick's side.

"Exhausted," Patrick sighed. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"We're gonna need to talk about this tomorrow," Patrick replied. "Stay?"  
  
"Gladly. Roll over, sleepyhead."  
  
Patrick gave him a peck on the lips and turned over, pressing himself against Pete, who wrapped an arm around his waist before pressing his face into Patrick's neck.  
  
Just when Pete thought Patrick had fallen asleep, he heard a mumbled, "Pete?"  
  
"Hmm?" Pete pressed his lips against Patrick's neck.  
  
"Which one of us is Batman?"  
  
All Pete could do was laugh.  



End file.
